


stars, misaligned

by pugglemuggle



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: A little angst with a happy ending, Canon Universe, Dumb boys are dumb, Getting Together, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Pining Keith (Voltron), Soulmates, Trick or Treat: Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-22 16:52:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12486332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pugglemuggle/pseuds/pugglemuggle
Summary: "Your soulmate is the person who you are destined to love, the person you will spend most of your life with," the priestess says. "But that person might not love you back."Or, Keith knows that Lance is his soulmate, but he has no guarantee that the bond is reciprocal. Now he's stuck pining after someone who probably doesn't like him back. (Or so he thinks.)





	stars, misaligned

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MemeKonYA](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MemeKonYA/gifts).



> Written for the 2017 Trick or Treat Exchange. It ended up a little bit angstier than I intended, but I hope you like it!

“I don’t... I don’t understand.”

The alien priestess gives Keith a pitying look, her green hair swishing over her shoulders as she shakes her head. He’s alone with her in the small room, and the other paladins are waiting outside, eager to have their fortunes told. It’s a sacred ritual, a confidential ceremony provided only to the most deserving of guests. Keith should be honored, but... God, he regrets even coming in here. He never wanted to know his fortune, and now.... The mats they’re sitting on suddenly feel hard and uncomfortable, the alien air too stale, and the walls of the fortune-teller’s small room make him feel trapped and claustrophobic.

“I know this must be a shock to hear,” the priestess says her voice calm, “but the ritual of soulbonding never lies. He is your soulmate.”

“I’m sorry.” Keith stands abruptly to his feet. “I need—I need to go.”

He yanks open the door to the fortune-teller’s room and almost stumbles face-first into Lance. _Shit._

“Oh, Keith. What’s the hurry?” Lance says easily, his eyebrow arched and his lips quirked downwards and his bright blue eyes staring at Keith and it’s _too much_ —

“Your turn,” Keith cuts out. He avoids Lance’s gaze and hurries down the hallway. He does not look back.

—

He’s not upset it’s Lance. That’s not it.

Lance can be obnoxious and overconfident, a little too much bravado with not quite enough maturity to back it up. He talks bigger than he can deliver, and his jokes range from irritating to downright infuriating. But he’s not a bad teammate—he genuinely cares, and Keith knows Lance would give his life for any of them. Lance’s usual façade disappears in the middle of a tough fight, turning him into someone who is quick-thinking and practical. He is emotionally intelligent in a way that Keith can never hope to be. He _gets_ other people. He gets Keith, sometimes. It scares him.

Lance, for all his obnoxious quirks, is not a bad soulmate.

What makes Keith lock himself in his guest quarters and collapse onto the bed, twisting his sheets between his fingers until the fabric presses sharp white lines into his skin, is the knowledge that even if Lance is his soulmate, Keith can’t seem to fathom a universe where he can be Lance’s. After all, not all soulmate bonds are reciprocal.

The priestess told them as much.

—

_“Soulbonding?” Lance asks. “So, you can tell us who our soulmate is?”_

_The priestess nods. “I can tell you who your soulmate is, but....” She trails off._

_“...But?” Lance prompts._

_“But it is against our faith to reveal to one the soulbonding of another.”_

_“What do you mean?”_

_The priestess is quiet for a moment. “Your soulmate is the person who you are destined to love, the person you will spend most of your life with,” she says. “But I cannot tell you if that person will love you back.”_

—

They leave the alien planet the next morning. They say goodbye to the diplomats, Keith speaking as little as he can get away with and letting Allura and Shiro handle most of the talking. He thinks he can feel Lance trying to catch his eye, but he ignores it. He feels like a coward.

Just as they begin their walk across the alien countryside towards the Castle of Lions, the ivory clouds above them begin to let lose a shower of fine rain, like sea spray. The droplets are as small as mist but soak them just as thoroughly as any rain storm. Keith shoves his damp hair out of his eyes and makes the mistake of looking up at the rest of the team, and—

Lance has rushed up ahead, his arms outstretched and his face turned up to the sky. He twirls a couple times, like a child dancing in puddles. Keith catches a glimpse of his smile—bright, wide, radiant, matching the light in his eyes. Keith feels a lump in his throat and swallows.

“Reminds me of home a bit,” Lance says sheepishly when he notices Keith’s stare. Keith should look away, but his eyes are stuck on the rivulets of water sliding down Lance’s neck. “Varadero would rain like this sometimes. I miss it, you know?”

Keith doesn’t know. He grew up in the middle of a desert, where rain meant nothing more than floods and a leaky roof, but he finds himself nodding all the same. There’s something about Lance in this moment that makes it impossible for Keith to disagree.

“Yeah,” he croaks. And then, finally, he manages to tear his gaze away. For the rest of the walk to the castle, he keeps his mouth shut and his eyes to himself.

—

For the next week, Keith does his best to avoid Lance. It’s not easy—the castle is large, but not _that_ large, and they’re both paladins of Voltron. He’s not about to skip team activities. Jeopardizing Voltron’s success is the last thing that Keith wants.

Lance certainly isn’t making it any less difficult for him. All throughout the week, he seems to make a point of hanging around with Keith after group practice, or sitting next to him at team breakfast, or seeking him out in the kitchen when he makes snack runs. What’s worse, he keeps dropping odd comments about soulmates and the fortune-teller and soulbonding. He’s probably just hoping that Keith will share what the priestess told him, Keith thinks, but that doesn’t stop the anxiety from drawing his muscles tight every time Lance rounds a corner. What if Lance suspects? What if he knows? What if he’s figured it all out and is just waiting for the right moment to let Keith down gently?

No, Keith thinks. There’s no sense in worrying. All he can do is keep his distance until the whole soulmate thing gets swept under the rug, and then....

He’ll cross that bridge when he gets to it.

They hold a group sparring session one afternoon between missions. Keith hopes it will be a good distraction, something to keep his mind off everything going on both inside his head and out. At first, it seems to be working. He and Shiro spar one-on-one for close to half an hour, matching each other well enough that neither gets the chance to overpower the other. Keith likes this, the repetitiveness of it, the headspace it puts him in. There’s nothing but the blade in his hands and the mat under his feet and Shiro in front of him. His mind goes blank.

They stop for a quick break, long enough to grab some water and catch their breath. It’s then that Lance decides to join them. “You two were really going at it,” he says. “Keith, mind if we spar for a round?”

Shiro speaks before Keith gets the chance. “Sure, sounds like a good idea. I could use a breather,” he says. Keith frowns and stares at his feet. He tries a little desperately to come up with some excuse, some reason to step back and let Shiro and Lance battle this one out without him, but he’s turning up empty.

“Awesome. Let’s get started then?” Lance says, and Keith has no choice but to get to his feet, pick up his weapon, and look Lance in the eye for what must be the first time in days.

Lance is ready for him, staring right back like it’s easy, like the eye contact doesn’t make him feel bare and vulnerable. His expression is expectant, and his grin—no. Keith blinks. _Focus_ , he tells himself. He watches Lance’s hands. Lance isn’t using his bayard, which makes sense, Keith supposes. A gun like his isn’t exactly the best weapon for close quarters combat, especially not for practice. Instead Lance carries a practice sword, similar to the sabers used by some of the galra sentries they’ve run into. Good. He and Lance will be evenly matched that way.

Keith lunges first.

Lance isn’t quite as fast as Keith is, or as experienced, but he anticipates Keith’s moves well enough to parry them. He steps, twists, thrusts, dodges, slashes and counters with deliberate, precise movements that are so different from Keith’s own fighting style, or even Shiro’s. Lance thinks before he acts. Keith assumed, months ago, that Lance was just as impulsive as he is—but he’s not, not in a fight, not when it matters.

Keith is so focused on watching Lance’s movements that he doesn’t notice Lance’s bluff until it’s too late. When Lance steps back, Keith jumps forward, acting on instinct to get the upper hand, but—Lance moves before he can get the chance. He’s ready for him, pivoting once so that Keith nearly falls forward from the momentum and then his hand is on Keith’s shoulder, spinning Keith around and putting the practice weapon to Keith’s sternum. There’s a moment of silence. Keith looks up.

“Holy shit,” Lance pants. “I win.” He’s grinning, looking almost smug except that his eyes are a little too wide, his smile a little too genuine. His face is red from the sparring. The fight has left his brow damp, and there’s a small line of sweat wandering from his temple to his cheek. For a moment, Keith has to fight the outlandish urge to wipe the sweat away. Lance is confusing and disarming, and Keith feels his heartrate pick up from more than just the fight.

“Yeah, you win,” Keith says, because he feels like he needs to say _something_ , something to pull him out of this silence that feels full of expectations he’s not ready to meet. Lance’s hand on his shoulder suddenly feels like a brand. “Can you...”

Lance takes his hand away. Keith is both grateful and resentful that Lance knows what he means without him even finishing the sentence.

“You ready for another round?” Lance asks.

Keith doesn’t mean to laugh, but he does. It’s sharp and mean and he regrets the sound as soon as he hears it. “No,” he says. “Sorry, uh.... Not today.”

“Why not?”

“I’m just—” Keith’s face is burning. “I’m not feeling great. I’m going to go back to my room.”

“...Okay, dude. Whatever,” Lance says, sounding wholly unconvinced, but Keith can’t bring himself to find a better explanation. He leaves the training hall without another word.

—

He skips dinner with the rest of the team that night. He feels guilty, almost, even though dinner has never been a required event. Still—it feels like hiding. He eats alone in his empty room and stares at the lines on his ceiling.

He slips out of his room a few hours after dinner usually ends and makes his way to one of the observatory bays. The halls are dimly lit, the way they are after most people have gone to bed. It’s a little comforting to walk in the halls alone with nothing but the sound of his footsteps and the quiet hum of the ship. He finally feels his mind begin to settle in a way he hasn’t managed since training earlier.

The view outside the ship is another calming sight. The observatory bay is slightly dome shaped, and the far wall is made of some sort of transparent alien material. Outside, the massive expanse of the universe stretches out, stars and planets coming together to create one massive mural across the entire wall of the room. Even with the naked eye, he can see the swirling patterns of distant galaxies, the telltale haze of dust clouds, and the faint hint of rings around the nearest planet they’re passing. Each tiny detail is a stitch in a tapestry just for him. He could watch it for hours.

He’s just sitting down in front of the window, hugging his knees to his chest, when he hears someone enter the room behind him. He tenses.

“Hey...”

It’s Lance. Of course it’s Lance.

Keith turns around. He can’t think of what to say, so he says nothing.

“Late night stargazing?” Lance asks, pointing out into the void, and Keith nods. Silence falls between them. Keith wants to disappear.

Lance sticks his hands in his pants pockets, then rubs the back of his neck. Keith glances up at his face quickly and sees him biting his lip. “Keith...” Lance says. Oh god, Keith doesn’t want to talk about this, not now. “Are you avoiding me?”

Keith doesn’t respond, but the answer must show on his face, because Lance drops his eyes down to his shoes and shoves his hands in his pockets again. “Thought so....” This silence is eating Keith alive.

“Sorry,” Keith murmurs. “I’m not... I don’t—”

Lance interrupts him. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not.”

“No, I mean....” Lance shrugs. “I guessed that you’d figure it out eventually. It’s okay if you feel weird about it.”

Keith looks up. “...What?”

“You know,” Lance pressed on. “About the stuff the priestess said?”

“That you’re my...” Keith starts to say, but something isn’t adding up. He feels like he should be the one saying those things to Lance, not the other way around. “What did she say?”

Lance shuffles and runs a hand through his hair. “You know....” He lets out a fake half-laugh, like the air is being forced out of him. “Don’t make me say it, Keith. This is embarrassing enough.”

“Tell me.”

“C’mon—”

“ _Tell me.”_

Keith thinks Lance isn’t going to answer. Then Lance looks up, meets Keith’s eye, and says, “She said you’re my soulmate.”

Oh.

“She said I’m your soulmate,” Keith repeats numbly.

“Yeah. That’s what she said.”

“I don’t...” Keith shakes his head. “I don’t understand.”

“What’s not to understand? I like you, okay?” It’s hard to tell in the faint blue glow of the observatory, but Keith thinks Lance is blushing. “I’ve liked you for a while now. The priestess just confirmed it, I guess.”

The meaning behind Lance’s words slowly begins to seep into Keith’s reality. Lance likes him. Lance _likes_ him. Lance is his soulmate, and he’s Lance’s. His soulbond _is_ reciprocal.

“Um, so. If you don’t mind, I’ll just be, uh... fucking off now,” Lance says, turning around towards the door. Keith jumps to his feet.

“Lance, wait—”

“It’s fine, really. I’ll just go—”

“But the priestess—”

“You don’t have to tell me—”

“Just—just _wait_.”

Keith rushes across the room and puts his hand on Lance’s shoulder. When Lance turns, his eyes bright with starlight, Keith feels like his heart might burst.

“She told you that I’m your soulmate,” Keith says, slowly and deliberately, “but she told me that you’re mine.”

And with that, Keith steps forward and presses his lips to Lance’s.

It’s short—chaste, even. Keith keeps the pressure for one second, two seconds, three seconds, his hand on Lance’s shoulder the only other point of connection, before he pulls back and takes a step away. Lance looks dazed. He hopes that’s a good sign.

“You like me,” says Lance after a moment. Keith nods. “You like me, and we just—we just—”

“We just kissed,” Keith finishes. He feels giddy and bold and jittery and exhilarated all at once. The feeling is intoxicating. He barely thinks before he says, “We could do it again, if you want.”

“Oh.”

Lance is the one who leans forward this time. This kiss lasts significantly longer than the first one.

Perhaps going to the fortune-teller wasn’t all bad after all, Keith thinks, Lance’s hand buried in his hair and his nose brushing against Keith’s cheek. In the end, everything turned out just fine. They’re soulmates, he and Lance. They can kiss all day if they like.

And they’ve got a lifetime of kisses ahead of them.


End file.
